


Victims of Circumstance - 14/20 - In Captivity

by motsureru



Series: Victims of Circumstance [14]
Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-15
Updated: 2008-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-11 18:12:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motsureru/pseuds/motsureru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers for Season 1 and Season 2. This is a <b><span>sequel</span> </b>to <i>Any Other Night</i>, which is a <b><span>sequel</span></b> to <i>Broken Glass. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Victims of Circumstance - 14/20 - In Captivity

**Author's Note:**

> An enormous amount of thanks to [](http://etoile-dunord.livejournal.com/profile)[**etoile_dunord**](http://etoile-dunord.livejournal.com/), who edits my commas and makes me happy doing it.

**Teaser _:_**   _He could stay sleeping like this, somewhere between true oblivion and waking, and never have to face the reality of what had happened._

.14 In Captivity

            There was a sound not unlike an enormous machine treading water in dark depths. Mohinder heard this sound, thick and lulling, and almost chose of his own accord not to wake. He could stay sleeping like this, somewhere between true oblivion and waking, and never have to face the reality of what had happened. Never face his captors, whom he hadn’t even seen before he struck the ground. But no, hiding in sleep seemed to be no longer an option.

            Second to the sound, Mohinder felt a radiating pain that stung fiercely at an origin in the back of his head. It was a sharp, stabbing sensation where a knot had formed, followed by a consequent ache, dull and coursing throughout his body. He remembered Sebastian’s face as he collapsed, and wondered if the man had been taken with him. Opening his eyes with a slow wince, Mohinder first saw the back of another chair, and with a slow stretch of his jaw, felt his ears pop against pressure.

            All at once it struck him; the whirring noise was a great engine, and he was probably far from France by now, miles and miles above the ground. He was in a plane. A numbness to his hands informed Mohinder that his wrists were bound behind his back, and he stretched his fingers carefully, feeling the plastic tie that held his hands together. It was loose enough at the connection, where it held them three or four inches apart like handcuffs, but painfully tight in the small loops around the wrists themselves. Mohinder sat up slowly, looking to his right to find a shuttered airplane window, and to his left to find Sebastian already awake and sitting upright. The man had what he could only guess were eyes equally tired and pained as his own, but Sebastian was also sporting a bruised and bloody lip.

            “ _Sebastian,_ ” Mohinder whispered, shifting in his seat to turn, leaning in. His whispers were muffled by the hum of the engine and the tight pressure of their altitude in his ears. “ _Are you alright?_ ” Between their seats he could make out the form of two individuals sitting a row in front of them, but other than that the plane seemed empty.

            Sebastian looked up and gave a weak smile to Mohinder. He looked worn out, paler than usual. His eyes were a little sunken, and the bruise from his broken lip to his chin looked awful against his pale complexion. “ _You’re awake,_ ” he stated, “ _I was starting to worry._ ”

            Mohinder felt a pang of guilt immediately. Sebastian had warned him, Sebastian had let him know the Company might be about, but he hadn’t taken a single precaution to help shield them from the danger he himself had probably made worse. “ _I should have known, Sebastian. I should have done something. I should have realized the Company woul-_ ”

            “Doctor Suresh. I see you’re awake,” a voice spoke from above him. 

            Mohinder looked up to find a man standing over the seat in front of him. Two men, actually, the silent one more serious than the one speaking. The first man looked aged, with dark brown hair mingled with gray and crows feet stepping at the corners of his eyes. He wore a deep blue suit, but he didn’t wear it naturally; something about it seemed off, out of place on the man. He offered Mohinder a disarming smile and friendly tone, but Mohinder knew better than to trust those deceptions now. Thompson had taught him that.

            The man to the stranger’s left stood almost a head taller than the first, younger and built with a square jaw and broad shoulders, solid muscle beneath his jacketless dress shirt. Mohinder could immediately tell from his stature and the crick in his nose that he was the muscle, and he was likely to be the one that had knocked them out. His hair was buzzed away like a soldier’s, and his stoic expression spoke only of waiting for orders. This was the man among the two to be feared.

            “Who are you?” Mohinder demanded, trying to sit up straighter, feeling pins and needles crawl achingly through his arms. He looked at the first man. “Why have you brought us here? This is the Company’s doing, isn’t it? That’s who you work for?”

            The older man seemed to smile knowingly at that, and he leaned over, bracing his palms against the chair that sat between them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mohinder Suresh. My name is Doctor Albany Pratt. Forgive me for being unable to shake your hand. I’m a biological engineer for, yes, the Company you speak of. And the Company has taken quite an interest in the work you and Doctor Godard have been doing. In fact, I’ve been admiring your work for some time.”

            “I’ve never heard of you,” Mohinder replied tartly, deep eyes glaring up at the man with unshielded animosity. He clenched and unclenched his hands behind his back, sure they were turning white with rage. He longed to have the feeling fully back in them, as if it might do him some good in the face of this danger.

            “Of course you haven’t. My former wife, Victoria Pratt, her work with the Company was years and years ago. Almost before you were born. I didn’t used to be a viral researcher for them, but, ah, the times do change.” Pratt smiled. “She was the one, you know, who first utilized what your father had discovered about your sister’s virus. She was the one who started all our research on it at the Company. If only she’d had the stomach to stay, we could have done great things,” he said, almost nostalgically. 

            Mohinder’s eyes narrowed, and he felt his arms shake a little as he contained his anger. The Company’s false friendliness, questionable ethics, lack of respect for the power science held… Mohinder felt insulted by it again and again. He could only imagine what this woman had done and felt remorse for after it was too late. “It sounds like she had enough sense to leave the Company’s disgusting work behind before she caused the world any more serious damage,” Mohinder retorted.

            Pratt merely smiled still, shaking his head. “It’s a shame. If she were here, you would probably be safer in this situation than you are now, Doctor Suresh. You should feel sorry that she’s abandoned our cause.” He leaned back again, folding his hands over one another. “Thanks to Thompson’s tomfoolery and your disappearance it appears we couldn’t keep you with us, so someone had to fill in the blanks, you see? That’s why they asked me to lend a hand. But it seems you really are necessary, in the end.” 

            Mohinder glowered at the man and stood up abruptly to stare Pratt down right in the face, no matter how uneasy he was on his feet. “I won’t work for the Company. Ever. You won’t get any of my research. I’d sooner die.”

            “Mohinder,” Sebastian objected softly, a worried expression on his face as he looked between them.

            The stoic man to Pratt’s right moved forward and gave Mohinder a rough shove back into his chair. Pratt continued to smile. “I’m sure you would. You should be careful, Doctor Suresh. Your friend here already tried to oppose us, and that mark on his face could have been much more serious, right Raymond?” The man at his side sneered in response, but said nothing.

            “You should just sit, Mohinder,” Sebastian murmured to his friend. “We’ll probably be in the States soon. Let’s get there safe…”

            Looking from his partner to the man above him, Mohinder felt a fresh hatred boiling in his veins. “What do you need us for? With all your supposed research… You wouldn’t take us both if this weren’t some sort of emergency… The Company needs us for something. Something they can’t figure out themselves.” Was it his blood? Their formula? These things could have been obtained easily, he thought. But here they were.

            “Right you are, Doctor Suresh. But you’ll get to hear plenty about that from Bob himself when we land. We’ll be in New York in no time. Just sit tight,” Pratt requested. He turned around and took his seat in front of them again, making himself comfortable and buckling his seatbelt. The taller, more menacing man gave both scientists a warning glare before he settled down at Pratt’s side, doing the same. 

            Mohinder sighed inwardly. Letting his eyes sink to the floor, he finally thought of Sylar. Of how terri- no, of how furious he would be. He could imagine now the destruction that the laboratory might endure from Sylar’s rage when he realized Mohinder was gone, and obviously not of his own free will. He’d blame Sebastian, most likely. It would seem like the only logical conclusion, Mohinder knew, and the thought of how many misgivings and disasters could result from this one kidnapping made Mohinder tilt his head back wearily. He worried not only for his own life, but for anyone who got in Sylar’s way when his moral safeguard was missing from his life. Was the laboratory burning now, the result of a nuclear blast? Was it frozen over in an icy, arctic apocalypse? Torn apart and mutilated beam by beam from telekinesis?

            What was going through Sylar’s mind, right now?

            “ _Mohinder,_ ” Sebastian whispered softly, nudging him with his shoulder. 

            Mohinder turned his eyes over to Sebastian and watched the man smile a pained smile.

            “ _Don’t worry, Mohinder. We’ll get through this,_ ” he promised.

            It was perhaps three hours later, maybe four, that the ambiguous voice of the captain indicated they would land shortly. Mohinder and Sebastian did not receive the honor of being buckled in where they sat, but Mohinder did use his shoulder to uncomfortably push aside shutter to the window as effectively as he could. Land was below, stretches of highway and green, but Mohinder did not recognize any of the scenery. America was just as foreign a land to him the third time, thousands of miles above, as it had been the second and the first.

            “ _I’ve never been to the United States,_ ” Sebastian whispered, leaning over Mohinder’s shoulder to peek at what lay beneath them.

            “ _It is a strange country full of many strange people, Sebastian,_ ” Mohinder replied, nostalgically recalling those words when he had spoken them to Nirand at his father’s funeral.“ _I think I was starting to enjoy France quite a bit. I was happy, for a brief time,_ ” Mohinder murmured with a sliver of regret sneaking into his voice. He had been happy for a brief time in America, too... over a few hopeful days spent with Zane Taylor and a few tragically sweet days with Molly Walker. How long ago all of that seemed now.

            The plane around them began to tremble with their descent, and Mohinder turned to stare at the backs of the figures in front of them. He may not have had much of a chance for escape, being in this plane, but he couldn’t go easily, he reasoned, without at least trying to assert himself. This man, Albany Pratt, obviously took him for what everyone else did: a weak scientist, suited only for microscopes and computers, someone who could be bent to the will of the Company and intimidated. Only Sylar had learned otherwise. Only Sylar had seen to its fullest the backbone Mohinder Suresh had beneath what were once naive smiles. Only Sylar would be understand, with pride, if Mohinder did this.

            Pulling his shoulders back sharply, Mohinder arched his elbows away from his body and to the sides, widening their breadth. He bit his bottom lip at the pain such a stretch caused him, but began to pull his legs back and his arms forward, inching against the resistance of his weight.

            Sebastian watched Mohinder move and his brows furrowed. “ _Mohinder!_ ” he said in an especially soft voice, glancing nervously to the men a row in front of them. “ _What are you doing? You’re going to hurt yourself- they’ll see you!_ ”

            The plane shuddered harder, and Mohinder ignored Sebastian, thankful for the landing’s cover of his movement. Feeling his shoulder pop painfully, very close to dislocation, Mohinder forced his arms forward slowly, his entire upper body trembling as he struggled to fit his lower half through the loop his bound arms created. Finally, he made it just over his backside, and a physical relief washed over him, a thin sheen of sweat over his temples. Lifting his legs carefully so as to not bump the seat in front of him where Pratt sat unaware, Mohinder slowly slipped his hands up and legs down, passing them through so that his hands finally rest in front of his body instead of behind. His wrists were cut and bleeding slightly from the tight plastic ties, but as the plane hit the ground running and began to slow, Mohinder found he could care less; he was too busy creating opportunity.

            Finally, the plane came to a stop, Sebastian eyeing Mohinder warily as the men in front of them unbuckled themselves and stood. Mohinder and Sebastian did the same. The intimidating man, Raymond, reached out for Sebastian first, dragging him roughly forward into the aisle and making him walk ahead. 

            Mohinder followed slowly, keeping his hands as low as possible so as to not draw attention to them. Pratt was coming towards him, a cheerful expression on his face. “Well, Doctor Suresh, the flight wasn’t terrible I hope? How are you feeling? Well rested?” He offered a hand on Mohinder’s shoulder, walking around the seat between them.

            Narrowing his eyes as the man took a step closer, Mohinder’s hands shot out quickly, and they hooked abruptly around Pratt’s throat, bringing the plastic tie between them tight against his flesh and twisting the man about. Pratt let out a choked cry and stumbled back against Mohinder’s body, hands reaching up to grab at the doctor’s, struggling. But Mohinder pulled back strongly, the plastic tie strangling the older man as his shoulder blades hit Mohinder’s chest. “I feel _fantastic,_ ” Mohinder growled under his breath.

            Raymond’s large figure turned around immediately at the sound of the scuffle, shoving Sebastian aside and into the wall as he approached them. “You! Stop that at once!” he demanded.

            “Mohinder, no!” Sebastian cried as he hit the wall of the plane with a thud, sliding down to the floor. “He’s stronger than you think!”

            “Back off! Or Pratt dies!” Mohinder shouted, tugging his wrists back tighter towards himself. “I want answers, Pratt! What are we really here for?!” he hissed in his ear. Mohinder imagined that if he could see his own eyes now they would be wild and dark, full of an untamable urge to kill or be killed; Sylar would be pleased.

            The older man struggled, coughing against the plastic tie that put pressure on his windpipe. Pratt could feel the plastic edges biting into his skin, threatening to cut. He grasped at Mohinder’s knuckles, trying to push them back. “B-Bob… Bob needs you…!” he wheezed. Raymond took a step forward towards them, but Pratt held up a weak, trembling hand. 

            The name struck Mohinder, a name Bennet had been careful to warn him about. “Bob? The head of the Company now? What does he need? He could just take our work and have _you_ do his bidding. Why does he need us?!” Mohinder tightened his grip and landed a knee to the man’s back, pushing Pratt forward as Mohinder pulled back against his neck.

            Pratt began to shake, gasping for breath as he nearly fell to his knees. “H-His daughter… h-his daughter’s sick…!”

            “Daughter?” Mohinder loosened his grip a little, and Pratt gave a quick jolt of his head in Mohinder’s direction.

            Raymond smiled a sinister smile, shaking his head as though in disappointment at Mohinder. There was a ripple through the air then, and the man’s skin appeared to lose color for an instant, pale into a flash of gray before resuming its normal fleshy tone. The man reached an enormous hand out and grabbed Pratt’s shoulder, shoving his body aside and jerking Mohinder’s arms up in the process. In an instant, Raymond had brought his fist forward and, in one forceful swoop, landed a punch to Mohinder’s gut.

            The blow would have hurt for anyone, but Mohinder felt the weight of those knuckles as though a boulder had collided at top speed with his abdomen. The strike echoed a debilitating pain through Mohinder’s midsection, and it caused him to drop immediately to the floor, releasing his hold on Pratt. The ache made Mohinder’s eyes squeeze shut against it, a labored cough ripping through his lungs while tears stung at his eyes. Then there was another strike, like concrete to the back of his head, and once more, Mohinder’s vision faded to an unaware black.

            “Welcome to Westchester County Airport, Doctor Pratt,” the captain’s voice came to the overhead. “Your car service to Hartsdale is waiting outside.”


End file.
